


Better Than Anyone

by starwarned



Series: Carry On Countdown 2020 [15]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: COC 2020, Carry On Countdown (Simon Snow), Carry On Countdown 2020, Carry On Countdown 2020 (Simon Snow), Carry on Countdown Day 15, CoC, DAY 15 - Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, not amazing hurt comfort lol I could have done better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:07:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27809584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starwarned/pseuds/starwarned
Summary: Carry On Countdown Day 15 - Hurt/Comfort“I will try to disappoint you better than anyone else has.” - Stephen DunnBaz and Simon both say things they don't mean.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Series: Carry On Countdown 2020 [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2026942
Comments: 5
Kudos: 62
Collections: Carry On Countdown 2020





	Better Than Anyone

**Author's Note:**

> i started this prompt like 6 different times and finally settled on this. i really struggled on this one even though it's my fav trope to read. ah well. this could have been a lot better and I apologize :( if you want to see that I can kind of write hurt/comfort, read [Mage First, Vampire Last](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26077195) instead

We’re arguing about it again. 

“We’ve been together for a _year_ , Baz,” Simon says over the phone. 

“I know,” I say, sighing. My fingers clench on the steering wheel. 

“Why can’t you just tell him?”

“You know why,” I say quickly. 

Simon sighs. “I know,” he says. And then, quietly, adds, “Are- are you… ashamed of me?” 

I snort. “Of course I am, Snow. You know who my father is!”

He’s silent for a moment and I’m about to correct myself, but he’s already started speaking again. 

“I don’t understand why I couldn’t have just come with you,” he mumbles, the phone barely picking the sound up. 

I’m on my way to see my family. They’ve been staying with a distant aunt for the past few months and I miss Mordelia enough to make a trip out. I’m almost there now, and Simon and I have been on the phone the entire drive. I was hoping that our conversation wouldn’t end up revolving around my father, but that was a naive dream.

My father has been asking me about my future, which has always included a significant other (a _girlfriend_ ) in his eyes. And yes, my future is strongly influenced by Simon, but I don’t think Malcolm needs to be that clued in to my love life. 

Simon disagrees. And I understand why.

Simon’s never had anyone be proud of him. Simon’s used to being shoved around in care homes and used as a tool and weapon by the people he’s looked up to his whole life ( _ahem_ , the fucking Mage). 

I don’t know what to say to fix it. It’s not that I’m ashamed of Simon - I’m not. Crowley, he’s the most wonderful boy I’ve ever met and somehow the universe granted him to an undeserving monster (that’s me, if it wasn’t clear). 

Unfortunately, I think that my father will be more concerned about me dating _Simon Snow_ (The Mage’s Heir, The Chosen One, etc.) than he will over me dating a man. I like to believe he would have tolerance for my queerness, but I think that only extends to men _like me._ _Posh wankers_ , Simon would call them. My father wouldn’t approve of my infatuation with Simon, of all people.

I suppose I’m ashamed of how much his approval means to me. 

And by extension, I’m (on some level) ashamed of Simon. 

“It’s better if I just face him,” I say. 

“You’re not going to tell him shit!” Simon says, loud and accusatory. He’s not wrong. “You’re acting like a child.” 

“You don’t understand, Simon,” I say, just as loudly, trying to keep my attention focused on the road, but that’s getting increasingly difficult as tensions rise over this godforsaken phone call. 

“No, Baz, I suppose I don’t!” he shouts. 

Ah, so we’re shouting now. 

“You don’t have a father, Snow, you don’t fucking get it!” 

“Well, _if I did_ , you fucking knob, I wouldn’t be too bloody _spineless_ to tell him I’m dating you!” 

He hangs up. 

And I smash my head back into the headrest. _Fuck_. 

I’m almost there, thank magic. I’m vaguely aware of the fact that I’m crying in the last few minutes of the drive and I make sure to wipe my eyes and check my reflection in the mirror before I go inside to see my family. 

They’re not even there. According to my aunt, they went to pick up a gift for Mordelia, and I should just make myself at home. I’m not entirely sure how I’m supposed to do that when I’ve been here a grand total of _once_ , but I end up finding a seemingly vacant guest bedroom and setting my bag down. I purposefully chose a room that has a window and a balcony. I need some air. 

I sit on the balcony, not caring about getting dust or dirt on the arse of my trousers right now. I let my legs dangle past the railing and lean my face against the bars. 

I’ve never been as brave as Simon Snow. I’ve never pretended that I am. 

_Spineless_. 

I am. Spineless. I’ve never stood up to my father. I fear his judgement. Simon was right on the mark there and I think that’s why it hurts more than it should. 

Not that I deserve to sit here and pout. What I said to Simon wasn’t fair either. He _did_ have a father - well, a version of him - in The Mage. Granted, The Mage was a huge wanker, but I can’t exactly judge when it comes to father figures. 

I know I’m crying again and my forehead aches from where it’s pressed against the railing. It’s a stinging reminder of how I am a constant disappointment to myself. And to my boyfriend. My lovely boyfriend who was just upset that I was leaving without him and who lashed out because I lashed out first. 

I am a monster. 

It’s windy outside. But my eyes are closed now and I can’t bother to open them to watch the trees sway. The wind hits my face sharply over and over again. I flinch, but don’t move away.

And then, the flapping of wings. 

“Baz!” 

I look up, wincing as I tug my forehead away from the cold metal railing.

There he is. That selfless bastard that I’m horrendously and irrevocably in love with. 

I can’t find it in me to move, so I instead press myself closer to the edge of the balcony so I’m wedged further between the bars of the railing and I can press my face through them. Simon flies over to me on those beautiful wings and hovers just a few feet away from me. 

“Hi,” he says. 

“What’re you doing here?” I ask, still on the defensive. Both because I’m afraid of what he might say and what _I_ might say. 

“Can I come sit with you?” he asks carefully, still hovering. Now that I’ve gotten a closer look at him, he looks tired. He must have flown all the way here right after we got off the phone. 

I untangle myself from the railing and stand up. I nod and step to the side so Simon can join me on the balcony. He does. He’s still wearing what I left him at home in - a ratty jumper and trackies that have seen better days. He looks windswept and beautiful and also a little sad. 

“It’s cold out here,” I say. I motion for him to join me inside. 

He follows me in but starts laughing the moment we’re inside the balcony doors. I whirl around. 

“What are you laughing about?” I demand. 

“Sorry,” he immediately apologizes, his hand flying up to muffle his giggles. “You’ve got dirt on your arse.” 

My cheeks feel hot and I absentmindedly dust off my trousers. “Shut up.” 

Simon sobers up a bit. “Sorry,” he says again, and I know it’s for more than the comment about my dirty trousers. “I- is it okay that I’m here?” 

I nod. “Yes,” I say softly. “I’m glad you are.” We’re standing too far apart for me to reach for him, but I want to. I want to hold him and remind myself that he’s here and that he came here for me and that perhaps I’m not the world’s shittiest boyfriend. 

I decide I’m going to apologize first. But before I can do more than open my mouth, Simon is surging forward and pulling me into him. 

“‘m sorry,” he says softly into my shoulder. “I shouldn’t have said that. You’re so brave, Baz. You are. You are. You are.” 

I hug him back and tuck my head on top of his, breathing in the scent of his hair. 

Simon sighs gently. “I just was hurt. And you’re right, I don’t understand what it’s like to have a real father-” 

I flinch. 

“-and I took that out on you. You can tell him whenever you’re ready.” 

Hearing Simon talk like this solidifies my choice in my mind. 

“No,” I mumble, kissing the top of his head. “Let’s tell him now. He’ll be home soon and I’d like to tell him together.” 

Simon pulls away from the hug and looks at me with wide eyes. (I can’t help but think about how lovely he looks like this - his eyes blue and piercing and his wings draped lazily behind him, the wind still blowing in from the open doors and rustling his hair). “Really?” he asks. “I don’t mean to pressure you-” 

“Enough, Snow. Stop babbling for just a moment.” I take a soft breath and reach out to grab onto Simon’s warm hands. They’re calloused against mine and I shudder at the feeling. I love it. “I’m sorry for what I said as well. I know it’s not the same.” 

He nods slowly, swallowing in that lovely, dramatic Simon Snow way. “Right.” 

“I love you.” It’s hard to say it first. It’s hard to say it in general - it always has been. But when he grins at me like I’ve just offered him a free trip to the sun, it’s worth it. 

“I love you, too, Baz. So much.” 

We tell my father together, standing on the bottom step of the staircase, holding hands, standing as one. 


End file.
